Inward, Upward, and Onward
“Have patience with everything unresolved in your heart… and try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don’t search for answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps, then, someday in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer.”
I sat with my morning coffee as the Harmattan dust rose over the Accra city sun, just like it did in the beautiful villages over the mud-huts and dirt roads. The sounds from the market behind my flat wake me every morning—sounds of people bartering in Twi, yelling to grab a taxi, or children playing. I’m doing more and more things that prepare myself physically, mentally, and spiritually for the opportunities that lie ahead—I’m practicing the art of creating space to think, reflect, wonder and read. Living in a developing country has been challenging at times, but most of the time exhilarating. I brewed my morning coffee with a French press the other day—a first of tiny triumphs I wish I could tell my father. But I am not alone in this African journey. I’m seeing that the more grounded and present I am, the more prepared I am to share and engage with others to different faith traditions, opening myself to listen to the faith journeys of others while also being willing to humbly share my own.
I’m now based in the capital city of Accra. I’m meditating more on processing the culture and how design can invigorate social change and innovation within the people here. Between my work and private life here, I want to strive to be more like Christ in thought, word, deed, and devotion. Even though I am made in the image of God, I want to keep reimaging how I walk, talk and listen for these tiny, everyday chances of spontaneity and serendipity. Chances for me to realize more and more how I can use design as a tool of holistic development.
The Academic Side of Things
How I end up feeling half the time I talk about Ghana
So far, living in Ghana has been a whirlwind of intellectual curiosity. My studies and independent research has been moving me non-stop in this inward, upward, and onward journey. I’m seeing where design is working, where design is failing, and simply where it is falling shot of their traditional and modern culture. I feel like I’m living inside a world of business school case studies, dozens of them passing by me on the street markets. I’m seeing cultural differences, but keeping the cornerstone that they all want the same things that design can fix, such as better designed school curriculum, health campaigns, and straightforward governmental forms that can speed processes to an amount of years faster. In the meantime, I’m taking the time to develop powers of observation, create time to let the world come to me, and creatively begin to see new things on familiar paths. The media in America has taught me that my western life is a complicated scene of interlocking facets of modernity, and Africa is a smoking crater, and so we have nothing in common. When I return, I want to tell a different story, about the things we do have in common, and why these things are as important or more than things we don’t. The best part about living in Ghana? Most Ghanaians I’ve met on either end of the country, if I complain about cell phone battery life or social media or dealing with overbearing people or whatever, will chime in with sympathy and understanding. I want to tell and design for interesting stories and people about what real life is like in countries that have the misfortune to be globally branded as impoverished Africa. Ghana is in western Africa, by the way. It’s next to Burkina Faso. Two over from Mali.
The Relational Side of Things
Three amazing people in this living abroad situation have become some of my very great friends—Abby, David, and Tyler. Being in Ghana has reminded me of how important other people are to my living here. We often find ourselves relying on the hospitality and graciousness of each other (Tyler is constantly cutting open breakfast mangos from the market for me), sharing our strengths and weaknesses (I am not strong while watching David’s scary movie suggestions), weighing practical and faith considerations before setting forth on a small trip (always have a man with you), encouraging each other’s physical, mental and faith stamina, checking up on each other’s health, pretending to be married to each other to ward off romantic beggars at the night markets, and laughing until we’re crying while sharing stories and hand-washing our laundry in buckets.
The Faith Side of Things
I am seeing God everywhere in Ghana. I am seeing God in the rural, dusty villages in the Tongo Hills, where people come together every night to drum, dance and sing loudly in their native tongue to Christ. I’m seeing God in Mavis, a perky, happy woman my age at the morning market who makes me an egg sandwich every day, who works 19 hours a day, because that’s just what her family does. I’m seeing God working in the faith of people who plant seeds in sooty fields, sew beautiful clothing in the ledges of their homes, and carry fruit baskets to sell on their heads for hours, not knowing if it will sell, but knowing that God will provide either way. And this image of God makes God look even bigger—when I am forced to see Him working in different, unexpected ways. My faith is growing in a way that I do not stop questioning or lose curiosity. And above all, in the quiet of the African morning, I’m finding God as my breath in the hiking weariness, my home along the unfamiliar way, my shade in the dusty heat, my consolation in my homesickness and discouragements, and my strength in my careful intentions. Whether I am traveling alone or with my trusted companions, living in Africa is ultimately a solitary one—with discovering my own lessons and charting my own course.